


Healing Scars

by eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar, PlayingChello



Series: Roleplays with Harley [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Breathplay, Choking, Knifeplay, M/M, Masochism, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, basically there's a lot of fucked up stuff in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:12:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4391435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar/pseuds/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayingChello/pseuds/PlayingChello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A roleplay that <a href="http://www.twitter.com/SSmokinSick">Harley</a> and I wrote. They wrote Nero, I Dante.</p><p>"When Nero truly feels like he's fighting an uphill battle, he punishes himself. And he asks Dante for help."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healing Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Please check out the tags if you've got triggers because this is probably full of them.

Nero has felt like shit all week.

His anxiety is crawling, lurking, whispering in the back of his brain and skittering under his skin and he can almost see it, but he doesn't speak on it. He just lets it happen, lets it continue-- What can he do about it? Nothing. And Nero knows it.

So he does the next best thing.

Don't get Nero wrong-- He enjoys sex. He likes the rush, the unexpected pleasure from a touch here, a kiss there, and bites everywhere. He likes the hand around his throat commanding his attention, his obedience, but sometimes... Sometimes it's different.

When Nero truly feels like he's fighting an uphill battle, he punishes himself. And he asks Dante for help.

Not intentionally. Nero doesn't outright ask for his mate to make him feel miserable, weak-- Instead, his request comes in a pair of thigh highs and Dante's Metallica shirt. 

Like he's doing now.

He stands before the mirror in the bathroom, glacier eyes glazed and unfeeling, taking himself in. Nero wonders if this is what he is now. If his mother's boyfriend was right, maybe he is just a sl--

Stop it.

He takes in a shaky breath and pads out of the bathroom, tiptoeing downstairs quietly, eyes searching for Dante. 

Nero just hopes Dante doesn't catch on.

\--

Dante thinks himself a fairly simple man. He runs his business, kills demons, eats pizza (no olives), and drinks booze. Trish hangs out sometimes, Lady comes over to bug him about his debt or to find Trish, and he's got Nero.

Lovely, beautiful, _perfect_ Nero.

Nero with a strong will to cover up his harsh experiences. Dante can't get over how unbelievably lucky he is to have Nero. How lucky he is that he agreed to mate with him. He loves that kid. 

Not to mention the decidedly great bonus of easy access to _great_ sex. Dante has always been a bit on the rough side, and any human partners he’s had have had a hard time handling it. But Nero doesn’t. He takes everything Dante gives him and begs for more. Everything between them is wonderfully compatible.

Nero is something frequently on Dante’s mind. Even when he’s pretending to read a magazine at his desk (but really just attempting to catch half a nap). He’s been there all afternoon, only rising some hours ago for some cold pizza. But when he hears quiet footsteps and smells the familiar, intoxicating scent of Nero near the stairs, he picks his head up and lets the magazine fall to his lap.

And his breath catches.

If Dante had to choose one, and only one, thing about Nero that he loves the very most, physically, it would be his legs. More specifically his thighs. And the way the thigh highs he is _killing_ right now accentuate them _so well_ have Dante practically drooling for him. Top it off with one of Dante’s old shirts hanging much too large over his frame and Nero can have literally anything he wants in that moment, as long as it includes Dante ravishing the fuck out of him and marking up those pretty thighs.

He swallows hard and forces his eyes up to meet Nero’s, “Damn, kid. Do you realise how beautiful you look right now?”

\--

Nero's ears catch the hitch in his mate's breath and he smirks, playing the only card he knows how. He feigns confidence.

"I'm flattered," he murmurs, leaning on Dante's desk with his wrists turned out. He lets a glimmer play on his features-- Something like a challenge, something like a dare, a 'come get me, if you think you're bad enough' look. "You look incredibly sexy, if I do say so myself." 

Nero wants something to happen, wants Dante to just _hurt him_ already, take him by the throat and make him scream and not in pleasure. He needs that feeling, that violation, that hate and that fear and Dante is the only one who can give it to him except--

Him.

Nero sees him in Dante. He sees those eyes, they're nearly the same shade of icy blue, the same crystal clear. His were clouded with something evil. Dante's... Aren't.

Still.

"You know," he breathes like he's run a mile, "I think you should definitely fuck me silly."

\--

That’s something Dante never needs to be told twice. He stands, forgetting about the magazine which falls to the floor. He covers the space between them in a few steps and grabs Nero’s hips harshly. The glimmer on his features, the challenge in his eyes, it all pushes Dante into this headspace where he longs to have control.

“You do, do you?” Dante asks. His fingers tighten their grip and he hopes they leave bruises, but he suspects he’ll need more force than that to mark his mate’s skin. “I think you’re doing too much thinking and not enough stripping.” To help him out, Dante finds the hem of the shirt and lets his nails scratch down Nero’s back hard enough to draw thin lines of blood while pulling them together so he can grind into him.

“Shirt’s a bit big, hmm?”

\--

Nero makes the faintest noise and he immediately presses into Dante’s touch, teasing him. He bites his lip, hand sliding up under the collar of his lover’s coat to push it off, “I could definitely say the same about you, big guy.” he whispers, voice barely even audible. 

He goes to quip something out but then there are nails on his back and he can feel the burn, the sting, the tear they leave behind and they’re so _dull_ but they’re still drawing blood and Nero can feel his own skin burst at the seams and it’s so wonderful, yes, make it hurt. He doesn’t want this to arouse him, he doesn’t want this to be a good hurt, so he whispers “Harder.” 

Dante’s grinding doesn’t register with the other until he comes to-- A gasp is pulled from his lips, catching in his throat as he brings one hand up to grip at Dante’s hair, “I think it might be. But I also don’t think you mind.” he groans under his breath, jaw falling limp for a moment while Dante brushes just the right spot, and his legs nearly give in. “Stripping? H-Hey, screw you, you could at least make me motivated to put on a show. I don’t even have a hard-on yet.” 

No, he thinks, I don’t want to put on a show. I want you to make me miserable. This isn’t about you, Dante, this is about me and you leaving me to bleed. That’s what I want. That’s what you need to do to me. Fuck me, tell me I’m nothing, leave me. That’s what I want.

That’s what I want, but you love me too much to do it, don’t you? 

Nero winces, but not visibly. He buries his face in Dante’s shoulder and moans, pretends like his hands aren’t leaving trails of poison wherever they go, pretends like Dante is…

No. No, this isn’t fair, and Nero knows it-- God, he knows it, and Dante would kill himself over this if he knew. Oh, if Dante knew. 

If only he knew. He wants Dante to know, but at the same time, he would kill to protect this secret. And he'll take it to the fucking grave if it means keeping Dante unaware.

\--

The shirt is big enough that Dante can slide his hands up, over Nero’s chest, and let one go until it’s wrapped loosely around his throat. He brushes his thumb along Nero’s jawline and pulls him in for a kiss, nipping at his lip and tasting him.

He pulls back just barely, lips still brushing Nero’s, “You want motivation?” He smirks then pushes Nero away, taking his hands out from under his shirt, and in his dangerous, commanding voice, “Strip.”

While he watches, eyes never once straying from the pretty young thing in front of him, he starts undressing himself. His belt is first, and Dante tosses it aside somewhere that it will be readily available later, should he need it. He expects he will. He unzips his shirt slowly, focused more on what Nero’s doing, but his pants go quickly, too much of a hinderance at that point.

He slams into Nero when he’s finished. Practically throws him on the couch, straddles him and pins his arms down above his head with a suggestive smirk.

\--

"Ah," Nero breathes, leaning into Dante's hand and then his kiss-- God, he tastes like fuckin' whiskey and something else, probably warm beer but who cares? It's what makes him Dante and if Nero weren't so hellbent on getting what he wanted he might've enjoyed it. 

But that isn't what he wants.

And then there's a sting in his lip and he figures Dante must've nipped him, but he's not complaining. It hurt. And that's all he wants, is for it to hurt, and he's getting frustrated because it feels like he's taking forever and Nero just wants him to _hurry_ and--

"If I don't?" the younger taunts, though it's empty, because he does as he's told. The shirt comes off over his head and musses his hair in the process, and he tosses it on Dante's desk. 

He keeps the thigh highs, though. 

And it's the 'strip' that echoes in his ears, it morphs and turns into a hollow whisper devoid of emotion that bounced ominously off the walls of his bedroom. It turns into an infection, and Nero can feel himself begin to shake but he can't let Dante _know_ even though he's gonna catch on soon because--

Reality slams back into him when his lover does, pinning him to the couch and wait, hold on, stop, I don't want this anymore Dante please get _off_. 

His head hits the frame and he gasps and his heart is going at a hundred miles an hour, and he panics, he changes his mind. Nero breaks his mother's boyfriend's grip on his wrists and lets out some kind of animalistic yelp, tears Devil Bringer's claws across warm flesh and starts to pant and no, no, this is a panic attack.

Nero presses himself back into the couch and distances himself, or at least tries. He can feel tears begin to sting dry eyes and he doesn't understand why he can't breathe, and suddenly tearing open his own rib cage to let air in sounds beautiful.

"Fuck!" he screams, and not of his own will. "Fuck..."

\--

Dante guesses something isn’t quite right when Nero doesn’t react to him pinning him. He knows it when Nero makes a sound akin to a wounded animal and leaves deep gashes across his cheeks with Devil Bringer.

He backs off at the same time Nero pressed himself against the opposite arm. Watches as Nero struggles to pull in breath, as tears fall. He has no idea what to do, no idea what set this off. But when Nero goes to start scratching at his ribs, he takes action.

As slow as he dares, he approaches Nero, kneels down on the floor next to him, grabs his wrists as gently as he can. It takes a lot of force, to keep Nero from hurting himself. And he struggles a lot. Dante can tell he’s far away, he’s not seeing the bar, but something else. He’s not seeing Dante, but someone that hurt him. And if that doesn’t make Dante _livid_.

“Nero. Come on, baby boy. Where’d you go? It’s safe here, it’s just me. I’ve got you.” He stays low, tries to give Nero as much space as he can, and only touches him to keep him from hurting himself.

Dante has never been so scared.

\--

Nero's eyes glaze and he struggles, screams, spits and cusses. He's tense, fighting _him_ for everything it's worth and goddamnit, there were scissors somewhere, I grabbed them, I remember it I grabbed them I don't want to--

Silence.

Nero is alone in his mind. Where is he? He doesn't know. He can feel his throat burning, and briefly he wonders if he's screaming, or if it's nails raking down his throat or maybe if it's...

But he's not ten anymore. So that's impossible.

And then like waking up from a nightmare, Nero stills and quiets, the faintest whispers of Dante's voice finally beginning to register.

Baby boy, huh? Yeah. That's got a ring to it.

"I think I'm gonna puke."

\--

The waste basket barely makes it in front of Nero in time. Dante rubs gentle circles into his back with one hand and uses the other to brush his hair away. When he finishes emptying his stomach, Dante sets the can aside and gets up to go get his coat from the floor.

When he comes back, he drapes the coat over Nero’s shoulders and sits up next to him. For a second, he just sits there, not touching him and keeping a careful distance. Letting him breathe. But then he gives in, leans over and pulls Nero into him, hugging him close. Because maybe he can’t keep the demons out of his head, maybe he can’t keep whatever it is that’s got Nero worked up from bugging him. But he sure as hell can give him a place to go, be there for him.

He kisses Nero’s hair and his fingers play through the light strands. He can still feel wetness where Nero’s face is pressed into his chest. “Shh, I’ve got you, you’re alright.” His breathing calms some before Dante asks, “You wanna tell me what that was all about, kid?”

\--

Nero doesn't know how long he hangs over the trashcan or how long he vomits, but his ears are ringing and he's still crying. His throat burns and his mouth is sour, his eyes sting and his hands are shaking. 

But when he's done, something heavy and warm is draped over him, and a sudden sense of ease dances through his head, comforts his senses and he sighs through his mouth. When he inhales, Dante's scent immediately fills Nero's nose, and it brings with it a warm feeling.

Nero's come to love the smell of lighter fluid and alcohol.

When he musters the courage, he looks up at Dante though he avoids his eyes. The gashes are prominent tears in his lover's sharp features, and a bolt of guilt wracks Nero to the core.

"I-- I'm sorry, holy shit--" Nero swallows, reaching to rest his hand on the side of Dante's neck and jaw, thumb brushing just under the last laceration.

\--

Nero looks up at him, but won’t _look_ at him. Instead the younger man’s eyes fall to his cheek. When his hand comes up, Dante leans into the touch. “It’ll heal. Are _you_ ok?”

Dante stares at him, watches the icy eyes that still refuse to meet his eyes. He’s pale, but the colour seems to be coming back to his cheeks, and his breathing is much better. There’s an already healing nick on his lip from their kiss earlier.

And then it hits him.

Whatever this was, whatever happened to make Nero freak out, it was Dante’s fault. He did this. Something he did led to this reaction. How couldn’t he see it before? His mind races to remember exactly what happened when things shifted. He remembers pinning him to the couch and he remembers Nero fighting back.

Dante would never forgive himself for this.

His words are hardly words, more like exhaled air with a bit of shape, hardly audible, “What did I do to you?”

\--

The words snap through Nero and he stares at Dante for a moment, considering him. Him? Dante think it's his fault? No, it's--

"Huh?" Nero whispers, and his stomach twists and he can feel Dante's guilt and oh my god, he didn't mean for this to happen.  
"No-- Dante, it wasn't you. I just-- I thought of something and I freaked out. I'm sorry." 

Nero burrows his face in Dante's neck and pulls his coat closer, closes his eyes and sighs. "It's not you."

\--

Few things are better than feeling Nero so solid curling into him. Even with guilt still roiling in his stomach. Even if he can’t shake the feeling after Nero assures that it wasn’t him.

It’s automatic, the way his arms wrap around Nero and keep him close. It’s natural, when he breathes him in and shudders out a shaky exhale of _Nero_. The kid might as well be a part of him. Hell, with the crazy demon mate thing, he literally is.

Another deep breath, Dante closes his eyes, one more heavy breath. The guilty feeling is just a slow boil down in the pit of his stomach. “What is it, kid? What’s got you like this?” He pauses, takes another breath, “Let me help you, yeah? I’m here.”

\--

Nero furrows his eyebrows in frustration at Dante's question. He wants to tell him, wants to let it out and tell someone finally after all these years but the words just won't come out of his throat. 

"I-- I don't..." He can't push the words out no matter how hard he tries, and it's killing him. 

So instead he settles on "It's just childhood stuff."

He knows Dante will be livid when he finds out, irate when he realizes how Nero's been dealing with it, and he doesn't want to see that. He doesn't want to see Dante angry over something that happened so long ago. "Sorry I scratched you."

\--

Dante's knowledge in Nero's childhood is limited. He knows something happened, that he ended up with the Knights and Kyrie instead of his family. He knows he never really knew too much of his dad. He assumes his mother isn't a very good person, based on the way Nero would sneer anytime she came up. 

There's more, he knows there is. Enough for a full blown panic. Enough to make Nero _physically ill_. And it doesn't really matter all that much what it is, anything that could have had that kind of effect makes Dante want to kill something. Something, maybe even someone, hurt Nero. He can't forgive that. And the idea sits painfully in his chest. 

"I'm not going to make you tell me anything you don't want to. I know you can handle yourself, but I'm here, so you don't have to. You are safe with me. And I'm prepared to kill anything that hurts you if need be."

\--

Nero sucks in a breath and he prepares. He doesn't know where to begin and what to tell and what to leave out, and he can't decide whether to let it out or keep it inside for just a while longer.

"I know," he murmurs, taking in a few deep breaths before continuing. "I-- I want to tell you, I do, it's just--" His words are caught in his throat once more, and Nero feels like he's choking.

"When I was little, like... Eight," Nero begins finally, still uneasy, "My mom had this... I dunno, boytoy. And I guess he was into little kids or something, because he-- He'd come after me. When mom passed out. Sometimes when she was just drunk. And then he said we were gonna spend a day together and he--" 

He can't bring himself to continue.

\--

He can feel his blood start to boil. He wants to yell, scream, fucking _kill_ something. But he also can tell how difficult this is for Nero to talk about and he doesn’t want to fuck something up by exploding when there isn’t anything (or anyone) to direct his rage at. So he stews in his anger, clenches his fists, grinds his teeth, and listens.

When Nero stops talking, he stays quiet and still, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn’t, Dante breathes in, holds it, and breathes out long and loud. Runs his hands up and down Nero’s back from over his coat. Even more than the roiling anger Dante is just barely holding a lid on, he just feels this overwhelming protective instinct over Nero.

“I’ve got you. He can’t get you anymore.” He wishes he had something more to offer. Something more than his arms to fall into. Words to make the pain go away. But words can’t make trauma like that disappear, Dante knows that all too well.

\--

"I know," Nero breathes as if he's exhausted, "I know." 

He feels like the weight of the world has been lifted off of his shoulders, like he can breathe, and it brings a certain sense of warmth to him. "I-- I'm sorry, I got you all riled up and then scratched the fuck out of you."

\--

“That is the third time you’ve apologised. I told you, it’ll heal. I’m fine. I’ve had worse.” He honestly couldn’t even feel the gashes any more. There are much more important things occupying his mind. Like trying to come up with something, _anything_ , he can do for Nero.

For now, he just holds him. Keep him close and listens to his breathing. Waits until his muscles have relaxed and he’s _almost_ purring. When he shifts, he realises that the position they’re in isn’t the most comfortable.

He shifts again, takes one hand to cup Nero’s cheek and get him to look at him again, “Let’s go upstairs, grab a shower, and take a nap.”

\--

Nero nods. He understands that Dante's had worse, and he knows that in retrospect, it's not bad at all. Truthfully, Nero's done worse to him-- Pinned him to the statue of Sparda in Fortuna by his own sword, nearly down to the hilt.

But it doesn't _matter_. They hated each other then and thought of each other as enemies, but now that they're mated, hurting each other isn't something that should be happening. Which is why Nero feels _awful_.

But he complies. Says nothing when he goes upstairs, says nothing in the shower enveloped by Dante and says nothing when they lay down. He can't form words in his head so he doesn't try to force them together in his throat-- Doesn't try to force another apology.

So he sleeps instead.

Nero's sleep is fitful and uneasy and more than once does he wake in Dante's strong arms. He doesn't mind, and instead presses into his mate's chest and once again tries to rest.

But when he finally realizes there's no more shuteye to snatch, he thinks instead.

Nero thinks about little things at first. Dinner, Trish and Lady returning home, whether or not they were out of milk. But his thoughts drift to Dante as they tend to do, and he begins to let his imagination wander.

He thinks of earlier. The way he tried to use Dante like a tool for pain. The guilt burrows in his chest and it knots, and Nero feels its sting. 

There's got to be something better than this.

\--

Dante’s been fighting demons for… a long ass time. He’s not accustomed to feeling useless. Even if he couldn’t fix a problem himself, he could usually do something to help. He’s always been able to _do_ something.

But there’s nothing he can think to do while Nero silently goes through the motions. While he struggles to sleep. Nero’s quiet, doesn’t say anything, so neither does Dante. He’s always been a light sleeper. And while having Nero, solid and warm, pressed up against him helps, not when Nero’s jolting awake all the time. But he feels him press in closer and fall back asleep, Dante can relax.

It isn’t long before Nero gives up sleeping, and Dante can feel his guilt start to climb. He doesn’t know if the way his hold tightens is subtle but it doesn’t matter. Nero probably knows he’s awake. It’s not hard to tell through their link and after sharing a bed for as long as they have. 

He knows Nero is dwelling on what happened. He’s probably still freaked out about gouging at his face. Dante wants to make it go away, wants to erase the guilt from his gut and make him forget.

Nero’s guilt mounts and Dante runs his hand down his side, “Hey. Talk to me, baby boy. What’s going on?”

\--

Nero isn't surprised when Dante speaks. He figures the older's been awake, because he can feel the essence of Dante's thoughts. Mostly negative, but he can still feel them actively. 

"'S nothing." Nero lies and he knows Dante can tell but he says it anyways. "It's--" he starts again, pausing and then resting his hand over Dante's, lacing their fingers together as best he can. "Just thinkin'." 

Nero doesn't lie about that bit. He really is just thinking-- Thinking about other ways to get what he wants without using people. 

And then he has an idea.

Nero pauses and furrows his eyebrows, shifts to face Dante and props himself up on his elbows. "Can I pitch something kinda fucking crazy to you?"

\--

Nero’s denial is expected, but when he keeps going Dante breathes a bit easier. He doesn’t want him to have to hold things in. Doesn’t want him to be afraid.

The question is a complete surprise.

Dante looks at Nero with a quirked brow, “Kinda fucking crazy is pretty much all I know. Shoot.”

\--

Nero doesn't skip a beat.

"Carve your name into my shoulder." is all he says, and he looks at Dante as he says it. 

He knows the request is absolutely off the wall, and he knows Dante is probably going to laugh at him before he responds. But he hopes that, like always, Dante will surprise him with something even crazier.

"It's weird, I know. Just-- I dunno. I feel like that's gonna help."

\--

Well, he wasn’t kidding when he said kinda fucking crazy. And Dante doesn’t know how it could possibly help. He’s used to hurting Nero for pleasure, used to being rough. But this is new. This is different.

But Nero is asking. And he thinks it’ll help. Dante can’t think of anything else, wants nothing more than to do something. This is certainly something.

“What, you want me to use my nails? Or something, like a razor? Want me to mark you up more permanently?” There’s an almost laugh, more of a chuckle, to go along with the response, but not really out of humour. He’s almost surprised at himself that he’s considering this. But they’re nothing if not unique beings. Half human and half demon. And if Nero thinks this can help.

He’s willing to try.

\--

"I was thinking something more permanent. A switchblade or something," Nero admits, shifting. "Just... Carve it open. Like, deep."

He knows it's weird and he knows it's out there, but hey-- They kill demons for a living, Dante can and has tossed back an entire bottle of Hennessy Cognac, and Trish and Lady have left their _unmentionables_ out on the table before. So hell, it's not that bad. 

"Besides, you were down to fuck me about three hours ago. You can do that now _and_ rough me up some. Minus the um," Nero pauses, "...Panicking."

\--

Dante is a bit tentative to go down that route again, after what happened last time. But he has to admit the idea still appeals to him. Even more so when he glances down and remembers Nero’s wearing his shirt. And man does he look good in it.

Mentally, he goes through the drawers of the nightstand, remembers a hunting knife he’s got in there. Not exactly a switchblade, but it might have to do. He’s not sure if there’s a switchblade nearby.

He takes the hand that’s still holding Nero’s and uses it to pull him on top of him. “If you think it’ll help, I can do that. Are you sure you’re up for it?” He needs to know that Nero is here for this, ready and able to be present. He doesn’t want a repeat of earlier.

\--

"Yeah-- Just trust me, I'll give you details later," Nero insists, straddling Dante's hips and giving him a coy smiles as he leans down. "I _knew_ this whole wearing-your-shirt thing would get you riled, you weirdo." 

Nero trails kisses down Dante's jaw and inhales his scent, and oh god he smells so good and he smells like home. He continues down further to his collarbone and looks up at his lover with an evil grin, mumbling a taunt.

"Better let me do the work so you don't throw a hip out, old man."

\--

That’s it. He can handle the coy smiles, can handle the goading, can even handle the evil grin and the kisses trailing beautifully down his collarbone. What he can’t handle is that taunt.

He’d show him.

He starts slow, lets his hands travel in a mindless pattern until they’re both rested on Nero’s hips. And when Nero is otherwise occupied trying to rile him, his grip tightens and he flips them so he’s looming over Nero. He said he wanted to be roughed up, well, then rough him up Dante would.

“I wouldn’t worry about me throwing a hip, and I’m _definitely_ not letting you do anything.” One hand trails up his side and pulls at the neck of the shirt. He brushes his fingers over Nero’s collarbone before curling his fingers around his neck, just how he likes it. He leans down. “You’re mine, Nero. And don’t you forget it.”

\--

Nero yelps and squirms defiantly and oh it is _on_ , he's gonna give Dante the fight he's asking for. He whines at the hand around his neck and he can't even hold back his own voice. 

"Fuck, tighter." 

This time, Nero wants it. Oh god, he wants it so bad already and he's probably only half hard and Dante's not even _riled_. He wants this, wants Dante's hand around his neck and his fingers in his--

Nero gasps when he shifts and he brushes up against his mate in just the right way because holy hell, that friction is delicious and he's barely even hard. "Jesus-- Dante _fuck_ \--"

\--

If he wants tighter, Dante won’t deny him that. His grip tightens a bit, enough so that Nero can still breathe but he’s probably feeling it. Hell, Dante _knows_ he’s feeling it.

And as Nero gasps, it’s a whole new game. Because now Dante can feel it. The atmosphere is building and he wants nothing more than to fuck Nero through the mattress, mark him up, watch pretty bruises follow his mouth. “Oh, I intend to.”

Nero is definitely wearing too much.

He relinquishes his grip on Nero’s throat long enough to yank the shirt up and over his head, but it’s back before Nero can do much about it. Then he leans down to bite and suck at his collarbone, leaving behind a large mark, which he barely gives a soothing lick to before moving on for more.

\--

" _Oh_ \--" Nero gasps when Dante's hand returns with a vengeance, and he grasps at his lover's wrist to _keep_ him there. "Dante," he whines quietly, "Just fuck me."

His fingers fly into his mate's hair and entangle themselves into the dusty white strands and he's not sure if he just made that growl or if Dante did, but it doesn't matter because it's _so good_. 

"C'mon, take me like a man."

\--

Dante takes one moment, just a second, to stop and caress Nero’s cheek and look at him with all the love in the world. In that second he tries to convey everything he loves about the kid beneath him. Tries to show how fucking happy he is to have him.

Then he yanks Nero’s shoulder to flip him and grabs his hair to press his face into the mattress. He grinds into Nero’s ass, now that it’s right beneath his dick, and reaches over to get what he needs. The lube is easy, always right on top and readily available. They’re getting a bit low though, need to restock. Dante files that away for later.

The knife is a little harder to find, but he manages, tosses it on the bed next to Nero. Then he’s presented with the issue of the troublesome layers of fabric still in the way. Nero’s is thin though, and Dante’s in a mood. So he grips the fabric and after a slight moment of resistance, there’s a satisfying rip and it falls away. He manages to be a little gentler with his own. Barely.

Prep is never much of an event for them, and half the time it’s barely that. Unless Dante is trying to take him apart with his fingers. But that’s too slow, too gentle, for what they want here. So he doesn’t take his time. Barely let’s Nero adjust before he’s got two fingers working, but he knows Nero likes the burn, craves it.

He leans forward, twists his fingers _just so_ as he plasters himself against Nero’s back and nibbles at the nape of his neck and then up to his ear. “Sure you’re ready, baby boy? Gonna make it hurt.”

\--

Nero knows. He always knows. When Dante's hand meets his cheek, he closes his eyes and lets a breath escape his nose. He knows. 

But before he can open his mouth to say something, his face is buried in the mattress and his scalp stings with tension. "Oh god," Nero breathes, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure and oooh shit Dante's grinding on him now, and he can't hold back the whine that escapes him. "Shit--"

His eyes go wide when they rest on Dante's hunting knife, and he bites his lip-- He knows the sting of that blade in particular. It bites, stings and lights his skin afire. Which he knows will be perfect for this job. 

Nero outright chuckles at the way his mate tears his clothes open; He expected it. But before he can even quip he's arching and Dante's fingers are inside him and _oh shit_ , that lube is cold and even Dante's fingers _burn_.

But it's the twist that draws a louder sound, a gasped "Hah!" that echoes. "Y-Yeah. T-Take any longer and I'm gonna be about your age when we're d-- _Aaah_..."

\--

It’s not subtle and it’s not gentle. And Nero’s sounds just push him further. He feels _so good_ taking him like an eager whore. His hand floats almost automatically to the knife he had tossed aside. He grips the well worn handle, feels the comfortable way it fits in his hand. It’s almost a high, coupled with the euphoria of pressing himself into Nero. He’s going to enjoy this. He wants to mark him, make it hurt, give Nero everything he wants.

He leaves a trail of harsh marks down Nero’s neck, to his shoulder. He stops there, places a soft kiss, and leans back with a hard thrust forward. He lets the flat of the knife trail lightly over Nero’s back. It’s foreplay, not preparation. It’s anticipation and he can feel Nero shiver.

“You’re gonna look so pretty when I’m done with you.”

The tip of the knife drags slowly up to the patch of skin at the top of his left shoulder blade and then stops. He hovers there for a moment.

And then he begins.

\--

Nero feels as though he's being torn apart when Dante pushes into him but it's _so good_ he can't even bring himself to care. He can't breathe, he's heaving gasps like he's been underwater for an hour. Even still, a moan tears itself from his throat and he bites his lip and grins because "Shit, move."

Nero's never cared much for adjusting-- First few thrusts hurt like hell but then it melts, starts to feel good. He figures adjusting is for newbies anyways. The burn makes it good.

The metal of the knife hits his skin and he whines an unconscious "Dante--" before pushing back against his partner. Then there's the bite of extremely sharp metal and the younger nearly fucking _yells_ , though it comes out more like a cheap whore's moan. 

Nero can feel the metal, the drag, the catch and the splitting of his skin with each line, and he can't help but push back. "Come on," he please desperately, voice harsh and needy and full of lust. "Unless you're scared."

\--

He loves the way Nero eggs him on, begs him to move, faster, more, harder. It’s never enough for him, and that gives Dante the drive to make it enough, find that point and drive Nero into ecstasy. So he drives himself into Nero with reckless abandon, doesn’t bother with a rhythm, just lets his hips stutter as they please. Randomly, he’ll manage to hit Nero’s prostate and it’s always a surprise to both of them. But he likes it that way. Likes to keep Nero guessing.

He’d like to record the way Nero sounds as his knife drags through his flesh, as the blood starts seeping from fresh cuts. He tries to be careful, tries to be neat. But when Nero pushes back and just begs for him, needles at him, he smirks and stops trying to be careful. He carves deep gashes into Nero’s shoulder, deeper and harder than before. “Feel like I’m scared?” He knows well enough he’s nearly hitting bone, but he also knows Nero won’t mind. The blood pours out from imprecise slices and covers the work he’s already done. He can’t even be sure the lines connect properly.

But it doesn’t really matter.

It’ll be recognisable. And by the way Nero squirms and keens under him, it’s doing the job it needs to right now. The room smells like copper and sex and it’s heady and Dante _loves_ it. He pauses for a moment to bury himself in Nero, lean over him, inhale his scent. “ _God_ , Nero.”

\--

Nero can feel the blood coming down his spine, can feel it drip off the sharp contours of his hips. He can feel it slip down his arm, can feel it gather in the dips of his body. And fuck if it doesn't feel like pure heroin.

He moans and this time it's followed by a breathless gasp and he can't help but _beg_ , " _There_ , there there there--" he repeats under his breath, angling his hips up and trying to meet his partner's thrusts. He can feel the letters of Dante's name coming together, he can feel everything and then the grate of metal on his bone is _beautiful_. 

" _Fuck_!" Nero yelps when Dante proves his confidence in his actions, tries not to move until his lover finishes his line but to no avail-- He arches regardless into their bed, shuts his eyes and shoots the elder a grin full of pleasure. "Shit..."

But it's Dante pressing up to him, leaning over him and inhaling him the drives him wild. "You can't get e-enough of me, c-can you? Y-You poor b-bastard." he quips, and he desperately wishes he could reach Dante's ears so he could return this teasing tenfold. 

But sarcasm will do for now.

\--

This kid would be the death of him. From the way he grins in pleasure from over a bloody shoulder to the way he quips at the way Dante consumes him. “Look who’s t-talking.” It’s not often he stutters, even during sex. But the sight of Nero, the sounds, the _smell_. It’s not even mating season and he’s lost.

He concentrates on the fucking now. Hopes the tears in Nero’s shoulder will satisfy. But he knows he can do well with the way he grinds into him before pulling back to really put his all into it. But something is missing. Something isn’t right yet. There’s sweat and blood and their moans echo in the room. Nero’s high pitched whines, Dante’s low groans because it feels _so good, so perfect_.

But something is still missing.

It isn’t until Dante lets a hand trace some of the tracks of blood, lets his finger press into the cuts, that he realises what it is. When he does, though, he smirks. Leans in closer to Nero’s ear, “Are you going to come for me, baby boy? Gonna be good?” And that’s when he completes the picture, wraps his arm under Nero’s chest and grips his throat _hard_.

\--

If Nero wasn't close before, he certainly is now.

It's the burn of the cuts, the feel of salt in his wounds that drives him wild, continues to wind that coil in his stomach tighter. He feels himself heating up, but something's still missing-- And he knows it's something he'll need to come.

And as he goes to reach for his own throat, a hand and a voice beats him to it. Nero almost laughs, because Christ, they truly are made for each other. But whatever laugh he might've had comes out as one of the most wanton moans he's ever released, and he almost doesn't care.

And it's a stutter, a pause that Nero answers, "Fuck-- I c-can't-- I can't, Dante, _shit_ \--"

\--

Dante drinks in the sound of his moans. He’s beautiful, so willing, begging like a whore. His stuttering voice, always saying he can’t, makes Dante thrust a little harder, a little more precisely. He pounds into Nero’s prostate and tightens his fingers just a little more.

“You can. You can and you will. C’mon, kid. I’ve got you. Come for me.”

His grip is bruising. He hopes Nero’s neck is nice and purple in a few hours, imprints of his fingers and evidence of his ownership. But the angry red of the cuts, still wet with blood, will definitely show that well enough. He can feel the pressure in his gut build, but he’ll be damned if he comes before Nero.

One more time, his fingers tighten, and he whispers, “I’ve got you, Nero, baby.”

\--

Even with Dante in his ear, Nero still grasps at the sheets for dear life, listens to the faint sound of blood dripping onto the bed below him and tries to concentrate. Concentrating feels fucking impossible with Dante taking him as harshly as he can but he has to if he wants to come.

He feels it building and he knows he's there, he's there but he needs more-- Maybe he needs less but he needs something. Nero knows there'll be bruises coming in nice and deep after they're done, and he tries to form words to whine and then--

And then with nothing more than a choked whimper of his lover's name does Nero come.

It's messy and loud, he arches and tenses all at once and it's impossible to hold back. It was that final order, that last squeeze to his throat that sent him over, and that barely registers until after he's spent.

When there's nothing but loud panting breaking the silence, Nero laughs. "How's your back doing, big guy?"

\--

The second Nero is finished, Dante releases his grip, and focuses on his last few thrusts. He comes hard and deep, pressed full up against Nero’s back. He feels, more than hears, the way Nero pants under him. His own chest heaves from the effort and once he has enough willpower to move, he gently pulls himself away so he can lay down next to Nero.

He’s beautiful.

Even with his remark, to which Dante raises a brow and bites back, “How’s yours?”, he’s still lovely. His hair is a mess from sleeping and from Dante’s fingers tangling in it, matted down in places by sweat. He’s still panting, but starting to calm down some. Every bit of skin Dante can see from his position is flushed red or marked up and he can’t help but smirk at that.

His hand comes up, brushes away a stray strand of hair from his forehead before holding his face and running his thumb over Nero’s cheek. He can feel his face soften into something disgustingly loving, but he can’t seem to mind. He’s still high on afterglow and Nero is _so_. _Goddamn_. _Beautiful_.

“How’re you feeling, Nero. Alright? Need some water?” His eyes travel over Nero’s face carefully, then he adds, “I love you.”

\--

"'M fine for now, I think," Nero breathes, . Even with the spent grin on his face and hair sticking to his temples, he still finds room to jest, closing his eyes and groaning, "Fuck, my hips are gonna hurt tomorrow."

He keeps his eyes shut, keeps his mouth closed as Dante looks at him, examines him-- And for just a second, Nero sees just what he's done to his partner. He sees the fondness, the softness that most might mistake for weakness. But not Nero. 

If Nero's learned anything from being with Dante, it's that the love for another doesn't make you weak. It makes you human.

And that's exactly why Nero returns the look.

"Love you, too."

\--

Despite Nero’s assurance, Dante still thinks he needs some water. And probably some peroxide or something. And as much as he doesn’t want to move, far too content just laying in bed next to Nero, warm and happy, he is much more concerned with making sure Nero is alright. Sane. Stable.

So he smiles cockily, but can’t even come up with something flippant to say. Just sits up and swings his legs off the bed, “That shoulder is going to hurt more if we don’t at least clean it up some. Stay there, I’ll be right back.” He leans down for a lingering kiss, soft but passionate.

“Don’t move.”

He walks out of the room, naked as the day he was born with not a care in the world. The girls could be back by now, but it’s nothing they haven’t seen, albeit against their will.

He doesn’t intend to spend much time in the small bathroom, just enough to open the medicine cabinet, grab some cotton and the peroxide. But as he shuts the cabinet, he catches his reflection in the mirror.

He’s a mess. A happy, sated, ‘just got laid’ mess. And he’s proud of the couple of marks Nero managed to get on him before he took over. He flashes a grin into the mirror.

The world seems to contort and suddenly he’s somewhere else. Someone else’s bathroom. Someone else’s house. And he looks miserable. There’s a girl in one of the bedrooms down the hall, half naked and drunk as hell, and he was _so close_ to doing something. Even when her eyes started going wild, even when her protests started to get genuine. He didn’t want to stop. Wanted to take, without caring if he hurt her.

He blinks and grips the counter, breath coming hard and ragged. But he’s back in his own bathroom, in his own home. There is no girl. Not anymore. It was a long time ago, and he _didn’t_ hurt her.

But he almost did.

He thinks back to Nero trying to tell him what happened. How his mother’s boyfriend went after him. Did… things to him. And Dante can’t help but feel sick because he _almost was that_. It didn’t matter that the girl was interested at first, despite her intoxication, didn’t matter that she was actually of age. Didn’t make it better.

At least he didn’t. At least he had the fucking presence of mind to stop. He never _wanted_ to hurt her. They were drunk, things got out of hand. But it stopped. And that’s all he as to hold on to.

He pads back into the room, standing tall as if he hadn’t just had a near breakdown in the bathroom. Not that he can _really_ hide it, when Nero can feel a certain extent of what he feels. But he pushes it away and holds up the bottle. “Peroxide, on your front.”

\--

The next thing Nero feels post-orgasm-blackout is lips on his own, and the lingering taste of copper in his mouth. Not that he minds, truly-- It's a wonderful taste on Dante.

And then he finds himself alone on his stomach, blood pouring from his shoulder and chest heaving. He's so _fucked out_ , stretched wonderfully and his hips burn so beautifully. He smiles lazily, feeling his wounds beginning to stitch themselves together-- But he knows that it's gonna scar. Bad.

Mmm.

Nero carefully reaches up to touch those gashes - the salt and sweat on his fingers makes it burn, settles into the abrasions and stings. He hisses through his teeth and lets out a shaky laugh. The cuts are jagged, the knife tore rather than sliced; But oh, it's good. Fits Dante's style.

Fucked up and beautiful. 

But then his gut twists and suddenly all that pleasure leaves his body. Nero's recognizes these feelings, and at first he believes them his own - had he started panicking _again_? No-- No, that's not right. 

Nero feels a kind of disconnect from these feelings and his own mind; He realizes that these must be Dante's if they aren't his. Unfortunately for him, before he could even begin to explore it, his mate's voice comes in clear.

"Huh?" he rasps, clearing his tired, hoarse throat. "Oh-- Fuck. Can you handle it, or do you want me to...?"

\--

Dante leans down to brush his hand through Nero's hair and kiss his ear, "Nah. Stay there, let me take care of you." He climbs onto the bed and straddles Nero's hips. 

He covers a ball of cotton in the peroxide and a bit drips down onto the small off Nero's back. "This is gonna sting like Hell, kid. But, then again, you're into that, aren't you?" and without any more stalling, Dante wipes the cotton across his shoulder. 

The blood has already begun congealing and clotting. It's sticky and dark and messy. Dante needs several cotton balls just to clear away the gunk. By then, the clots are clear and the blood flowing freely from the messy lines of his name. 

"I really did a number on you, kiddo." Once the cuts are clean, Dante presses a towel to it to staunch the blood flow. When he's satisfied, he releases the pressure and climbs off the bed again. "Be right back."

This time, he's much quicker. Returns to the bedroom with a glass of water. He sits on the edge of the bed to hand over the cup and waits until Nero finishes drinking before speaking up again. 

"How're you feeling, baby boy? You alright?" He looks over at the fresh cuts, his name branded in Nero's skin, runs a hand over Nero's spine. Nero can handle a lot, but the demons in your head can be far worse than the ones in the world. 

You can kill the physical ones. 

And this whole thing had been a fucking guess. For all Dante knew, he could have just caused irreparable damage in Nero's healing. He could have made this all much worse. 

The worry and the guilt and the _panic_ mount. Dante has lost so many. His mother. His father. His brother. He _won't_ lose Nero. He _can't_. He will do everything in his power he possibly can to help this man. Help him deal with him mental demons. 

He loves Nero _so much_.

\--

Nero stays put as Dante straddles him, and hisses as the peroxide bubbles and eats at the blood clots. It's not bad to him, really. He's dealt with much worse-- Impaled, the injury that brought his arm, and most of his basic training. Even still, it was a pleasant sting. Dante was doing this out of love, so it wasn't... Bad enough to complain about. 

"Yeah, you did," Nero murmurs, smiling. "Which is good. Felt good."

He sighs when Dante's weight leaves him once again, and again smiles when he comes back with water. "I said I was fine," he says, but takes the glass anyways."I feel good. Really good. It's gonna turn out pretty awesome."

But as Nero takes steady sips of his water, he feels Dante's anguish yet again. And this time, he opens his mouth. "Hey," he whispers, "look at me. You feeling okay?" 

Nero is suddenly concerned-- What's got Dante feeling like shit? Was it the sex? No, of course it wasn't the sex. Was it what happened earlier? "And don't BS me, either."

\--

His eyes snap to Nero’s at the command, suddenly focused and sharp staring into his mate’s baby blue eyes. He should have expected this. Can’t hide your emotions when another person can literally feel them. And it’s not like he really needs to hide them, he trusts Nero. Loves him. He just doesn’t want to heap his own concerns on top of whatever Nero is already dealing with.

“I-”

Putting his feelings into words had never been something he excelled at. Never really needed to, beyond the few times he tells Nero he loves him. And when he asked him to mate. Otherwise, he tends to just kill things in lieu of expressing himself.

But Nero matters.

Dante moves so he’s sitting against the headboard and motions for Nero to come closer. He wraps his arms around the smaller man and gently traces a finger over the fresh scabs on his shoulder. “You know I care about you, yeah? I just… I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t ever want to be the reason you panic or hurt or anything.”

He kisses Nero’s forehead. “Love ya, kiddo.”

\--

Nero knew Dante was struggling-- He always did when it came to emotions. Not that his mate could be blamed. Hell, after all, Nero himself had issues expressing his own emotions and feelings. But he doesn't press Dante, and instead lets him try again.

And when his lover motions him up, he follows, laying on Dante's chest and burying his nose in his neck. He listened as the older spoke, and eventually pressed a kiss to the side of Dante's neck.

"It was an accident," Nero whispers, closing his eyes. "I was being stupid. Just forget about it, Dante, I'm serious. It wasn't your fault at all."

And Nero smiles. "Love you too, big guy. And I can pretty much read your mind, so talk to me when you feel shitty. Okay?"

\--

The corners of Dante’s lips quirk upward, “Yeah yeah. Same goes for you, Nero. You don’t have to carry all this alone. ‘S what I’m here for. We’re in this together. Saving the common folk from demons, or saving each other from our own.” His words stick in his throat, unable to voice any more emotional babble.

So, instead, he winds his arms around Nero’s back, pulls him in close, and just sighs. Deeply and heavily. The air smells like sex and blood and _Nero_. It’s the scent of home.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/playingchello) and [tumblr](http://playingchello.tumblr.com).


End file.
